


In The End, It’s Him & I

by winterslady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Dominant Jon, F/M, Sexual Slavery, Submissive Sansa Stark, consensual sexual slavery, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterslady/pseuds/winterslady
Summary: Westeros is lost, but the dragonlord Jon Snow reigns in Essos, with his beautiful bedslave at his side.





	In The End, It’s Him & I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsanity/gifts), [Darkmagyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkmagyk/gifts).



> I was bullied into taking this down, but I’m putting it back up because fuck you.

Essos was hotter than Sansa imagined it would be, hotter than even King’s Landing had been. They kept the windows of their Volantene manse open, and a slight breeze ran through the linen curtains. It would have been hotter still if things had been like they were in King’s Landing, if she were a proper lady who wore wool or even silk dresses. But she did not have such burdens in Essos. She lounged on a daybed piled in the finest silk pillows, one of the many gifts that the Volantene had given Jon in tribute. Beside her was a bowl of fresh fruit. She closed her eyes as she savoured the fresh oranges and drank Arbor Gold. In Jon and Sansa’s winecellar was some of the last of it, shipped to Slaver’s Bay before Westeros had been turned into a graveyard.

 

They had company today, so Sansa had dressed herself more conservatively than she would if it was just Jon and the other servants. Jon had instructed her to put on a short gown of Myrish lace. There was not much point in it, truly. Without a slip lace was easy to see through, and it was so short it covered nothing if she were to bend over. Atop the silk pillows, it easily rode up.

 

The men who’d come to see Jon were other Westerosi exiles were men Sansa had known in another life but they were strangers to her now. Few would know the woman she’d turned into. 

 

“Forgive me, My Lord,” Ser Bywater said, “but your bedslave looks awfully familiar?”

 

“Is it possible you rescued her from a Lysene brothel? I think I fucked her,” asked another man Sansa whose name Sansa could not recall. 

 

“Doubtful,” Jon said, looking over at her. “My sister, Lady Sansa Stark.”

 

Ser Jacelyn Bywater swallowed, remembering the girl who had been held captive in King’s Landing. He had been one of the Goldcloaks then, Sansa remembered. She was good at remembering people, storing information so she would be sure to use their name when she spoke to them. She had always been trained to be courteous, to be pleasing to others. But now the only one Sansa had to please was Jon, her lord and master. She smiled as she watched Ser Bywater reconcile it in his head. All the Westerosi lords were shocked by it when they called upon them in Volantis, but not a single one questioned it. Above the city, Rhaegal flew in circles. Jon was a conqueror the Volantene appeased, and who the Westerosi feared. The dragonlords had always had sex slaves, and they had taken their sisters to bed as often as not. 

 

“I trust you’ll need time to think over our proposal,” the man Sansa didn’t recognize asked, treading cautiously now.

 

“No,” Jon answered. “I don’t need any time. I don’t plan on going back to Westeros. I’m content here.” Jon held out a hand for her, and Sansa stood to take it. He pulled her into his lap. In front of the men, he ran a hand up her thigh. “There’s nothing left in Westeros but death, but here…” Jon’s thumb brushed against Sansa’s clit and she moaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder, “... there’s life.”

 

These men would have heard that the Jon Snow who loomed over Volantis was not the same man they’d heard songs about on the boats full of Westerosi refugees. Sansa had never asked him what he’d truly done, what atrocities had been committed during those final days when he and Daenerys had burned much of the continent. She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to think about anything other than the way Jon’s hands felt slipping up her legs, the way her cunt ached for him, how good it felt to think of nothing but pleasure. Before everything had broken down in Westeros, it been exhausting to repress her feelings for her brother. Starks were not Lannisters or Targaryens, they did not commit such a narcissistic sin. But Jon had saved her while the rest of the continent burned, he had taken such good care about her in those first days, to live her life in service to him seemed like a wonderful escape.

 

“I see,” said the man whose name Sansa didn’t recall. And see he did, his eyes were all over Sansa as she sat on Jon’s knee. She could feel Jon hard underneath her, and she wondered if the sight of her squirming under Jon’s fingers made the men in attendance hard too. It was sinful of her, she knew, but she liked when men were consumed with their lust for her, and liked it better still that Jon protected her from them. She was for his use alone, after all. 

 

“I must say I’m disappointed. We were hoping you’d lead the expedition home.”

 

These men were as foolish as any of the others who had visited. They had no home to return to, Westeros was gone. There were no survivors there, the living had been burned along with the dead. Anyone left had escaped and ended up in Slaver’s Bay. Still, Sansa relished the audience. Jon’s concentration had turned entirely to her, ignoring the men, and they sat on watching the show. He’d made her peak thousands of times with his fingers, but it still felt good when he pushed two inside her and curved against her soft skin. As he fucked her with his hand, she thought of the tales these two knights were sure to spread when they went back to the people they led. Everyone would know Sansa was Jon’s whore, and how dutifully she served her master. To be owned by Jon Snow was a wonderful thing, and knowing that the eyes of others were upon them, it didn’t take long for Sansa to peak.

 

Jon put his fingers in Sansa’s mouth to lick clean after she’d come, and she did so eagerly. “Go to bed and wait for me there,” Jon instructed, “this won’t take long. But don’t touch yourself this time. Remember, your body is for me to enjoy, not for your own pleasure.”

 

Sansa nodded and got off of Jon’s knee. She pulled down her dress, though the lace barely covered her ass and Jon’s visitors had already seen everything there was to see. Jon had given her this dress, and so she wore it with pride. Sansa left the room and headed to her Lord’s chambers. 

 

She waited for what seemed like hours, lying back on Jon’s featherbed and daydreaming about how things would be if Jon really did take back Westeros. He would be King, and she his royal concubine. How wonderful things would have been if Jon had taken her as his bedslave when he still reigned as King in the North.  She imagined him pulling her into his lap as he discussed war strategy with Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister and bringing her to orgasm as he had moments before. She would have been happy to perform her duties there, with the entire North watching. Everyone would see how Jon worshipped her, and what a very good girl she was. Perhaps once Sansa would have thought it was degrading to let her brother rule over her. But now she knew there was nothing but satisfaction in it. It gave her sweet bliss when Jon ordered to his knees in front of the other servants or even guests and pushed her mouth down over his cock. Jon had no other bedslaves, only her, and she knew that people talked. People knew Jon was a man of voracious sexual appetites, and they’d made him gifts dozens of bedslaves, all eager to please the last dragonlord. But Jon had no use for them, so he’d freed them. He only kept one slave, Sansa herself. But the freed women had nowhere to go, lest they turn into slaves once more, so they opted to stay at Lord Snow’s manse. They insisted they’d serve, and so they soon became useful. “My sister likes to be watched,” he’d told them, and so the beautiful whores watched enviously as Jon thrust into his sister night after night. Several of the whores had piqued Sansa’s interest, and she’d asked Jon if they could take the pretty girls to bed with them. But Jon had no use for them even then, he would merely watch his sister explore the slaves’ bodies. Sansa could take her pleasure with them, but afterwards she would always need to fuck Jon, so on those nights her cunt would ache because she’d came so many times. Jon was a man of no mercy, not anymore, so he didn’t care that it hurt to peak again and again. He would remind her she belonged to him.

 

At last, Jon came to the bedroom. Sansa was a good girl, trained in the ways of pleasing him, and so she rose to take care of him. She undressed him, placing his clothes in a folded pile on the bedside table. A servant girl had brought a basin of warm water, and Sansa took a cloth and cleaned her master. She washed his feet and wiped the sweat from his body. All the while, he stood there hard and naked. He was a man of much self control, and he never interrupted Sansa when she was doing her duties as a bedslave. It was hardly work at all, running her hands along his muscled body as she cleaned and massaged him. It felt so good to know she was pleasing her master.

 

When she was finished, she kneeled before him staring at the floor. It was for her master to decide how he wanted her. She could feel herself growing wetter with anticipation. She pushed her legs together, which offered both relief and made her want more. She wanted so desperately to be able to rub up against him or at the very least to take him in her mouth. She wouldn’t even mind if he fucked her in the ass again today, just to be touched at all would be enough. If he wanted her ass, he could have it, for he was right when he’d told her in front of the visitors that her body belonged to him and existed for his pleasure. 

 

“Get up,” Jon ordered. She followed his command, though she knew not to look him in the eye. She had chosen to be totally submissive to Jon when they arrived in Essos, and she deferred to him always. “Turn around and bend over,” he said, “I want to look at you.”

 

Jon often commanded her to do that, so she knew how he liked it. She widened her legs and placed her hands on the floor. He often told her this was the sweetest view he’d ever seen, sweeter than the wall or the sunset over the ruins over Valyria. The men he showed it to often agreed, and it dissapointed them all when Jon was the only one allowed to touch her. He did so now, his hands never being able to stay off her for very long, one of the reasons he never let her wear very much clothes.

 

His fingers moved inside her for only a moment before he pushed his cock inside her. It was always hard to stay balanced when he fucked her like this, but Sansa tightened her muscles to help balance. He grabbed her hips and pushed into her. She was wet and ready for him, and though her master was kind he did not always think about her pleasure. He’d made her peak three times already today, and his constant stimulation of her left her ready to be used at all times. Her cunt tightened around him as she braced herself against the ground, trying not to collapse. He groaned, but pushed into her even harder. When he spilled his seed inside her, her knees were shaking. He pulled out of her, but she knew better than to leave the position he’d ordered her into. Such an act would earn more than a light spanking. She had pledged to submit to him fully, after all.

 

Jon got into bed but she remained like that for twenty minutes, all of her muscles aching. Finally Jon called to her from his bed. He was hard again, laying on his back. He smiled lazily and Sansa did not need to be told what to do. She lowered herself onto him and fucked him slowly. She had been her good girl, and Jon was rewarding her by letting her come around him. He made no moves to help her, just watching her perform for him. After she’d reached release, she resumed her duties as his slave and moved her hips up and down faster, fucking him the way he liked to be fucked. She was very sore by then,  but she did it anyway. Her pain was nothing compared to his pleasure. 


End file.
